


Failed Tests and Runaway Brothers

by TheSlytherinWitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Cuddling, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Dean is trying his best, Failed math test, Fighting, Gen, Homework Help, No Incest, Running Away, Sam gets upset, Weechesters, dean is a good big brother, dean is fourteen, sam is ten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 04:55:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21048659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSlytherinWitch/pseuds/TheSlytherinWitch
Summary: New town, new motel, new school. For the Winchesters some things never change. When Sam fails another math test things go as badly as expected with an abusive father and a stressed older brother and Sam runs off





	Failed Tests and Runaway Brothers

The bell rang loudly, startling Sam. He’d thought there was more time in the school day, but it was over already. It wasn’t that he liked school that much, Dean always teased him and said that he was a nerd and a kiss up, but really it was because he didn’t want to go back to whatever crappy hotel they were staying at in that town.

And he didn’t want to see his dad.

John Winchester had always been angry and short tempered, but Sam thought that he’d gotten worse recently. He yelled more often and made his two sons do more and more training sessions where they weren’t allowed to make any mistakes.

The hallway was crowded and noisy, but Sam kept his head down and slipped through without drawing much attention. Being the new kid always sucked, but at least at this school people mainly ignored him. People weren’t trying to be his friend or bully him.

It sucked, but really it didn’t matter. They weren’t staying long anyway. They never did.

He tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack. It kept slipping off his shoulders- it used to be Deans so it was still a little too big, too disproportioned for Sam’s ten-year-old body. He walked out the front doors of the school and into the bright sunlight.

Spring was different in New York than it was in Colorado, the last state they’d stayed in. Here it was warmer, the chill of winter was gone and the grass was fresh and green. Sam had worn a jacket to school, but it was too hot to have it on now.

He came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and looked around. They hadn’t been in town long enough for Sam to learn where the hotel was, so he needed Dean to bring him back. He searched for his older brother in the crowd of kids.

It didn’t take him long to realize he wasn’t there.

This wasn’t the first time Dean had skipped school. Their dad brought him along with him for backup on hunts sometimes and other times Dean just skipped because he wanted to. Dad didn’t care, he always said that school for Dean was a waste of time.

‘You’re in high school now,’ he remembered him saying one time when Dean had told him he couldn’t miss the next day because he had a biology test. ‘You know enough already, what else can that place teach you?’

Unfortunately, this attitude did not spread to Sam’s schooling. When it came to Sam, John Winchester was unerringly rigid. Sam would go to school and he would get good grades and that was the end of it.

Sam moved over to one of the picnic tables over by the bike racks and sat down. He’d just have to wait for Dean to come get him. He pulled his history homework out of his backpack and started answering the questions, chewing on the end thoughtfully while he read the paragraphs about them.

By the time he finished all of the other kids were gone and the school was practically abandoned. That wasn’t exactly true, the kids stuck in detention were still somewhere inside, and there were some teacher’s cars scattered around the parking lot, but there was no one else outside so Sam felt alone.

Dean wasn’t there yet, but Sam wasn’t worried. He always came eventually. He had never once not showed up. Never. To anything.

When Sam had been in a spelling bee after school and he’d lost on the last word (it was ‘maternal’, he’d spelled it with two t’s because he’d gotten flustered), Dean had been there. When Sam had been in the school play and he’d only had a few lines Dean had helped him memorize them and showed up to see it all three nights it had run. When Sam had gotten sick and had to be sent home he called Dean and in a shockingly short amount of time Dean was at the nurse’s office, out of breath and ready to take his little brother home.

So Sam knew that Dean would be there to pick him up. He didn’t doubt it for a second.

He pulled out his math next, looking over the equations printed in cramped black ink across the sheet of paper. He sighed. Math was his worst subject. It wasn’t that he couldn’t get it, if he tried really hard, but he always had such a hard time paying attention in that class.

In other subjects, like English and History, Sam could see the stories behind what he was being taught. He could see the depth in them. He understood the methods behind the characters in the books they read and he could visualize the battle strategies in history lessons.

It was what he’d been born to do. He’d heard enough stories from Dean and his father about the cases they’d worked and Dad had drilled him again and again about what he would respond if he was interviewing someone and they said something suspicious, or how to tell what someone’s intentions were.

So those things came easily to him. And he’d done enough translating out of ancient texts that he could make it through his language classes, he was taking Spanish this year, without too much difficulty. What he couldn’t understand was math.

The equations all looked the same and they never served any purpose. The answers didn’t lead to a bigger conclusion. They didn’t solve a case or help in another problem. You just solved it and that was it.

He hated it.

Still, he was going to try. Ignoring the way the sun was beating down on his neck, Sam bent over the paper and started trying to solve the first problem. He didn’t get far, though, because he heard someone walking towards him.

Sam had only found out about hunting and monsters a year ago, but he’d always had good instincts. It was natural in a family always on the move with a paranoid father and an overprotective older brother. Even if Sam didn’t know what they were so afraid of, he learned to be afraid too.

He looked towards the sound and his face broke into a smile. Dean was walking towards him, looking ruffled and tired and distinctly backpackless.

He hadn’t been in school. Sam swallowed down his frustration. He had always thought that Dean should go to school and that their dad shouldn’t drag him on hunts all the time.

“You ready to go?” Dean asked, reaching his younger brother and looking around at the empty schoolyard. He smoothed down the front of his shirt sleeve shirt. 

“Yeah,” Sam replied. He gathered up his stuff and pulled his heavy backpack up off the ground. Before he could yank it up onto his shoulders Dean reached out and took it from him, slinging it up over his arm as easily as if it were a pillow. “Thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it. You looked like you were about to fall over with that thing anyway. Seriously what do you have in here? You’re in fifth grade, Sammy! You don’t need to carry all these textbooks around. You’re such a nerd.”

“I needed to bring my math book home,” Sam admitted, looking down at his worn sneakers. He wished he could take the words back. He hoped Dean wouldn’t ask why.

He should have known better. Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you bringing that shit home again? The last time your teacher had you bring that thing home was because you failed the test and she wanted you to get extra practice.”

Sam refused to look at him. He felt his cheeks start to heat up. It wasn’t like he was trying to fail the class. He was doing his best, honestly. But he just couldn’t seem to get it. 

“Hang on, did you fail again?” Dean demanded, stopping and putting his hand on Sam’s shoulder, forcing him to turn and face him on the sidewalk. At fourteen, Dean was already tall and strong. He was popular at every school they went to and it wasn’t hard to see why. He had the rugged look of a bad boy but he could be incredibly sweet as well. Girls fell for him left and right. 

Sam knew he didn’t have the same charm. At school kids instantly labeled him as weird and different and no girls ever gave him a second look. All he had were good grades, and in math he didn’t even have that. 

He could feel a pathetic, sick sort of feeling rising up inside him. He didn’t want to cry, not now, not in front of Dean who would probably just tell him to get over it and stop being such a baby. 

“Sam,” Dean said, more insistent now. “Did you fail?”

Sam clenched his fists and knocked Dean’s hand off his shoulder. “Why do you care?” he said angrily. “You’re not my mom!” He started to storm off down the street. 

Dean’s face, which had been frustrated and stressed before flickered into shock and hurt and anger. He grabbed Sam’s wrist yanked him back, holding him so tightly it hurt. He stuck his finger in his younger brother’s face. 

“Hey! Don’t talk to me like that!” He was yelling. Sam tried to pull his wrist away but Dean wouldn’t let him go. “I’m not your fucking mom but I might as well be and don’t you dare tell me I shouldn’t care if you fail your classes or not. It’s my fucking job to take care of you, do you hear me? It’s my fucking job!”

He held on to Sam for a moment longer and the boy stared up into his brother’s face, stunned and afraid. Dean got angry sometimes, but it was almost never directed at Sam. Not like this, anyway. And he had never grabbed him like that before. 

Before Sam knew what was happening there were large, hot tears sliding down his face. Dean blinked in surprise and let him go, taking a step back. He clearly hadn’t realized just how angry he’d gotten, or how much he’d scared his brother. 

Sam stood there for a moment longer, heart pounding like a rabbit in a snare and then he was running, away from Dean, away from his failed math test, away from the school where no one knew his name. 

He ran until his feet hurt and his chest was filled with small stabbing cramps. The tears were falling faster now and Sam could barely see. He hadn’t even realized where he was going, but he seemed to be on some sort of side street next to a fabric store. 

There was a bench nearby and Sam sank down onto it with shaking legs. He cried until he could barely breathe and when he had no tears left he wiped his nose on the bottom of his faded tee shirt.

It was only then that he noticed that he had no idea where he was. 

The first thing Sam felt was fear. He was lost in a place he had never been before and he didn’t have a phone or money or anything to help him. His next thought was one of relief. Dean will find me soon, he reasoned. He’ll come and get me. 

Then it occurred to him that Dean probably had absolutely no idea where he was either. The fear came rushing back, swift and paralyzing. Sam could feel his heart racing in his chest and he had to force himself not to panic. 

_ It’s all my fault, _ he thought to himself. _ I was the one who yelled at Dean first. He was only trying to get me to do well and I yelled at him. _

Sam felt guilty too. He knew how much Dean hated talking about their mother, or mothers in general (when he’d lost the spelling bee on the word maternal Dean had told him it was a stupid and useless word anyway). It wasn’t fair to say something like that to him. Besides, Dean had been right. He was more of a parent to Sam then their dad had ever been. 

Sam looked up and down the street. He didn’t recognize anything and the street names were unfamiliar. He thought back to what he’d been told to do if he ever got lost. ‘Just stay where you are until Dean or I come and get you,’ his dad’s voice commanded in his ear. 

So that’s what he would do. Just stay put until Dean found him. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that his brother wasn’t looking for him at all. The boy pulled his legs up onto the bench and hugged his knees to his chest. 

He felt like crying again, but he wasn’t sure he could. He was too nervous. Too alert. 

It was a good thing the street was empty. Sam had a feeling someone might come out to ask him questions if they saw him and he didn’t need that right now. 

Minutes dragged by and all Sam could think about was how angry dad was going to be when he found out that he’d run off. Of course, he wouldn’t get mad at Sam. He’d get mad at Dean. 

Somehow whenever something went wrong John Winchester always blamed Dean. Every stupid thing Sam did could be turned into something Dean didn’t do. ‘After all,’ their father liked to say, ‘he’s your responsibility, Dean. Everything he does is on you.’

So Sam wasn’t worried about himself. He was worried about what could happen to Dean because of his mistake. 

As it turned out, he had a lot of time to worry about it. Minutes turned into an hour, which swiftly worked its way to two hours and Sam was still lost and alone. 

He was just beginning to wonder if Dean really wasn’t going to find him when he heard a distant shout. “Sam? Sam!”

Sam’s heart leapt into his mouth. “Dean?” he called back, listening desperately for his brother. He got up off the bench and started running towards the end of the street. “Dean?”

He didn’t even make it to the corner before Dean was racing towards him, a panicked look on his face. He skidded to a halt in front of Sam and looked down on him with such a look of pure relief that Sam felt his guilt, which he had forgotten in his excitement, come rushing back. 

“Dean-”

He didn’t have the chance to finish because Dean had lifted him straight off his feet and into his arms, crushing his small body in a hug. “I thought I’d lost you,” Dean choked out into Sam’s shoulder. It sounded like he’d been crying. “I’m so sorry Sammy, I never should have yelled like that.”

Suddenly Sam was crying again. This time he didn’t care if Dean thought he was a baby, he bawled into his brother’s chest, burying his face in his flannel shirt. Dean roughly rubbed his back and started walking, carrying Sam down the street. 

“It was my fault,” Sam managed between sobs. “I shouldn’t have said that you shouldn’t care.”

“Hey,” Dean said. “Don’t talk like that. I scared you and you ran away. You’re my responsibility. That’s on me.” These words and their tone were enough to stop Sam’s crying at once. He sniffled and pulled his head up, looking at his brother in confusion. That was something their dad would say. 

He took in the flannel that Dean hadn’t been wearing before and that he shouldn’t have on in this heat and he noticed that his school bag that Dean had been carrying was gone. 

That could only mean one thing. Sam’s stomach did a nasty flip. “Did you go back to the hotel room?” he asked nervously. 

Dean didn’t reply for a little too long. “Yeah, I thought you might have gone there.” There was a purposeful lack of emotion in his voice. 

“W-was dad home?” Sam’s words came out shaky. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. 

There was another long pause. “He was there.”

“And you told him what happened?”

“Yes, Sam. I did.” 

Sam buried his face back into Dean’s chest and tried to stop the shame from eating him alive. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you to stop saying that! How many times do I have to tell you it was my fault for you to get it?” He put Sam down on the sidewalk and made his brother meet his eyes. “The quicker you stop feeling guilty the quicker we can forget this ever happened, okay?”

Sam nodded silently, then lifted his hand to pull at his brother’s sleeve. “Let me see.” Dean recoiled, snatching his hand away and pulling the flannel more firmly down his arm. Sam didn’t miss the way he winced. 

“No, Sam. I’m fine. Now come on, we need to get back. Dad’s been worried sick.”

“If he was really worried he’d be the one out here looking for me,” Sam muttered. 

Dean glared at him. “Don’t say that. He cares about us.” He took Sam’s hand, more carefully and gently than before, and pulled him faster down the street. Sam could feel the warmth of his brothers palm against his.

He knew one thing for sure. Dad didn’t care about him like Dean did. Not even close.

They walked in silence for a minute or two before Dean spoke again. “You know, about what I said earlier… I know I’m not your mom or anything like that, Sam. I’m your brother, but it’s kinda my job to make sure you do okay in school, alright? I’ll try to… shit. Look, I’ll try to be more understanding next time. I know math is… hard for you.”

“Thanks, Dean. I’m sorry I ran away, I just got scared. I don’t like it when you get mad at me.”

Dean ruffled his hair and closed his eyes. “I know, Sammy. I know.”

Eventually the two brothers made it back to the hotel room. Dean still hadn’t let go of Sam’s hand. He thought Dean might be scared he would run again.

When he saw the Impala parked in front of the door, he wanted to. He dragged his feet up to the door, looking up to see the change that came over his brother. When they were alone, Dean was caring and soft. He cared so deeply about Sam that he smiled all the time, at almost everything the younger boy said. But when John Winchester was around Dean completely changed. He kept his emotions in check, he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve- he didn’t show his heart at all, and he never smiled.

Dean straightened up: shoulders back, head forward, face expressionless. Then he took an audible deep breath and opened the door.

The boys’ dad was standing at the bed, shoving his clothes in his black duffel bag. He turned and Sam could see the scowl on his face even in relative the darkness of the room. “You’re back.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said quickly, tightening his grip on Sam’s hand. “I found him on Quarter Street.”

“I don’t care where you found him, boy! I care that you lost him!” John exclaimed furiously. Dean flinched, just a little, but Sam could feel the fear and shame pouring off of him. He was suddenly angry. Angry at his dad, at himself, at his stupid math test, but mostly he was angry that Dean was upset. It was Dean’s job to protect Sam, but it was Sam’s job to make sure he always felt worthy of that job.

He pulled his sweaty hand out of Dean’s and stepped towards their father. “Stop yelling at Dean!” He knew his words sounded childish, but he meant them. 

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean muttered. Sam ignored him.

“No! I was the one who ran away, it was my fault!”

John looked down at his youngest son with disgust, as though insulted that Sam would ever say something that stupid. “I don’t have time to have a pointless argument with you right now, Sam. Dean knows exactly whose fault it was. Now, I picked up a case in Vermont. I’ll be gone for a week, two at most. I left money on the dresser. Dean, you know what to do.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean whispered.

“What was that?”

For the first time since they’d gotten back, Dean’s eyes flashed with something almost like defiance. “I said yes, sir.”

“Good.” Without another word the man walked out the door, leaving his two sons to deal with the terrible tension that had filled the room.

Dean slumped down onto one of the two beds and buried his face in his hands. The sleeve of his flannel slipped down his arm and Sam could see the fresh bruises that were spread over his skin.

He approached his brother slowly, not knowing how his Dean was going to react. “Dean…?”

“Why did you do that?” His voice was muffled in his hands. “Why did you defend me?”

Sam frowned and reached out to touch Dean’s arm, wanting to somehow comfort him but not knowing how. “Because dad was being mean and you’re my big brother! I couldn’t let him be hurt you.”

Dean lifted his head up and opened his arms without a word, letting Sam wrap his skinny arms around him and holding him close. “Don’t talk back to dad, alright, Sammy? I know you were protecting me, but I can’t protect you from him if you attack him like that.”

Sam didn’t know what he meant and he didn’t agree, but he wanted to make Dean happy. “Okay, I won’t,” he lied. Dean seemed satisfied with that answer because he let Sam go and got up, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“Alright, go get your backpack- I left it by the door- you need to finish your homework.”

Sam didn’t want to, but he trudged over to his bag anyway. “But Dean, I can’t figure the math out. I tried, but it doesn’t make sense!”

“Don’t whine, Sammy. I’m going to help you.”

“Really?” he asked hopefully.

Dean nodded, getting up and pulling out two chairs at the rickety table. “Yup. And you’re going to get all of them right.”

Sam smiled. “Thanks, Dean.” _ For everything… _

They sat at the table for as long as it took for Sam to understand what they were doing in class and it was dark outside the motel windows. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough of that,” Dean yawned, stretching his arms up towards the ceiling. He messed up Sam’s hair, ignoring his indignant noise in response. “Come on, Sam. Let’s get some sleep.”

“What about your homework?”

Dean glanced at the clock and sighed. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t have much anyway. Now what did I say? Go brush your teeth and shit.”

Nights after John left were always the best. They didn’t have to worry about their father coming home and both boys slept without the fear of being woken up for an impromptu night training session. 

Dean took the vacated bed so both boys got their own. Sam stretched out and rolled around until he found a comfortable position, then he drifted off. He knew Dean wouldn’t go to bed yet, the older Winchester brother, being fourteen, went to bed later than his ten year old brother. It comforted Sam to know that Dean watched over him, always protecting him even when they were asleep. He always took the bed closest to the door and he checked the room excessively before actually settling down. 

That night Sam dreamed he was back on that street, sitting on the bench. This time Dean didn’t come for him. Day turned to night and he was cold and very much alone. 

“Dean!” he screamed. “Dean? Dean, where are you?” He thrashed around under the covers. In his dream he got off the bench and ran down the street. When he turned the corner Dean wasn’t there so he kept running, street after street in a dark maze. 

The next thing he knew Dean’s hands were on him, shaking him awake. “Sammy! Hey, man, wake up. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.”

“Dean,” he gasped reaching tearfully for his brother. Dean sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, pulling Sam onto his lap. “I got lost again and you-you weren’t there, you didn’t come get me…”

The boy ran his hand gently over his little brother’s hair and held his head against his chest. Sam bunched up Deans flannel in his fists and clung on, not wanting to let go. He breathed in the smell of cedar and gasoline and deodorant that was uniquely Dean. 

They stayed that way for a long time, quiet and comforted by each other. Then Dean broke the silence. “You know I’d never not look for you, right Sammy? If you’re lost I will find you. I will never let you out of my sight. You’re my responsibility, remember?” He let out a shaky laugh. “You’re stuck with me.”

Sam didn’t speak and after a moment Dean patted his head, slid him off his lap and back onto the bed, and stood up. “Go back to sleep.”

He crossed back to the other bed and laid down. Sam bit his lip. “Dean...?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

There was a long pause. Sam knew that Dean liked sleeping with him, it was a good way to make sure that he was always safe, always within an arms reach. But he was still a teenager and the selfish part of him wanted to have a night in his own bed. The caretaker part of him won. “Sure, Sammy.” The boy got up and ran over to his big brother, climbing up into the bed and wrapping his arms around Dean’s chest. 

Dean pulled the covers over them and rubbed Sam’s back gently until he fell asleep. He didn’t have any more nightmares and both of them slept more fitfully because they knew exactly where the other was. 

When the sun came up they were still bruised and parentless, but they were together and safe, which, to them, was what mattered the most.


End file.
